A James Bond Christmas: Until the Day I Die
by mnfowler
Summary: Just before Christmas 1967, a kidnapped scientist and stolen rocket fuel lead James Bond, agent 007, to the United States where he gets into his usual trouble with sex, violence, gadgets, and bad jokes in the face of death. Additionally, he encounters a plot to resurrect an old nemesis.
1. Chapter 1

In a laboratory, Dr. Alois Morewood, a scientist wearing a white hazmat suit, marks a calendar. According to his mark, it is the 16th of December 1967. Through a thick window onto an adjacent, sealed chamber, Morewood observes as a similarly suited-up assistant, Bob, attaches a fuel tank to a large engine. The tank has dry-ice-like indotherms rising from it. Bob leaves the test chamber. Morewood then pushes a console button to remotely ignite the fuel, and the two men watch the enormous blast from the engine. They give each other the thumbs up when it is over.

Bob goes back in with another dry-icy tank and attaches it to the engine.

An alarm goes off. The two men look at each other through the window, unsure what to make of it. The sign over the door to the test chamber indicates "Lock Down." Bob tries to open the door but cannot make it budge. The door to the laboratory explodes open and Commandos in red hazmat suits, armed with submachineguns, rush through the smoking hole where the door had been. Machinegun fire is heard in the corridor outside. The Commandos grab Morewood along with an additional tank of fuel and hustle them out of the lab. One of the masked Commandos (Hereafter known as The Commando) goes over to the test chamber window, looks at the helpless Bob pounding against the glass on the other side. The Commando looks down at the console and pushes a button. The engine roars into action and Bob disappears in an immense ball of fire.

Opening credits: Assorted transparencies of violent men and scantily clad, undulating women move across the screen while Portishead, featuring Beth Gibbon, sings "All Mine," including the lyric, "Until the day I die."

We see a festive Montage of London, its streets decked out with Christmas decorations. We end up at MI6 Headquarters, finally in the outer office of M's suite. Miss Moneypenny types at her desk. The door opens. In comes James Bond. He tosses his hat from the doorway and it catches perfectly atop the hat rack.

"So you did learn something from that Oddjob fellow," says Moneypenny.

"Well, Miss Moneypenny," says Bond, "he was more practiced, but in the end he was shockingly bad."

The intercom on Moneypenny's desk comes to life:

"Is 007 in yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, if you two will stop making love, send him in."

Bond and Moneypenny exchange chastened looks, and Bond strides toward the door to the inner office.

Once inside M's sanctum sanctorum, Bond finds that there is a bespectacled bald man with an unlit pipe already seated in one of the two chairs in front of M's desk. M and the stranger both stand.

M says, "Professor Michaels, may I introduce Commander James Bond. Commander, this is Professor Woodward Michaels." The two men shake hands and exchange how-do-you-dos. M then says, "Be seated gentlemen." After a pause, he asks, "Commander, what do you know about rocket fuel?"

"Not much, sir. I know it tends to go boom if you treat it disrespectfully."

"Indeed." M looks at Michaels. "Would you please fill in the Commander on the relevant details?"

"I'd be happy to," says Michaels. "There are two types of fuel generally used in rocketry these days. We in the West prefer a liquefied gas that is cooled down so that it is like dry ice. The Soviet's are still using a solid fuel that is not as advanced or as efficient. That's the technical part in a nutshell."

"I presume," says Bond, "that these fuels are used both in ICBMs and in launch vehicles for the space programs."

"Ah," says Michaels, "you do know more than you let on."

"Yes, yes," says M impatiently. "Now that the Commander has shown off his brilliance, let us get down to brass tacks. The CIA has asked for our assistance in the matter of some stolen rocket fuel of the frozen liquefied gas type that you were just discussing. There is a kidnapped scientist involved, as well. They need your help in finding out how they were taken from their laboratory, which is located in..." M consults a piece of paper before pronouncing "...Pasadena, California."

"Then I am to go to the Colonies, sir?"

"Almost immediately, as soon as you've visited Q. He has some new gadget or other to show you. Nothing you need to bother about, Professor Michaels. I'll show you out. Thank you for your time."

"Not at all."

The men rise and shake hands again in farewell.

Bond wanders into the cavernous lab where Q's assistants are all either putting together or testing an array of devices from golf-club guns to exploding toasters to panel vans that turn into heavily armored battlewagons with mounted cannons and machineguns. Absently, Bond plays with a cigarette lighter he finds on a counter.

Don't touch that, 007!" says Q rushing over to his least favorite agent. "That may look like an ordinary cigarette lighter, but it's actually a laser weapon that could burn a hole in an aeroplane fuselage from a mile and a half away."

"Hmm. I'll bet it can keep a good cigar lit, too," says Bond.

"Come over here, 007," says Q. "I want to show you something."

"Show and tell," says Bond.

"Here. A perfectly ordinary-looking pair of cufflinks, but when you twist them clockwise they emit a 160 decibel sound wave that shatters the ear drums."

"Very interesting, but wouldn't that shatter mine, too?"

"Yes," allows Q, "but as much as that thought pleases me, I am giving you these special ear muffs. Put these on before you use the cufflinks, and then be sure to twist them counterclockwise before you take the earmuffs off. Got that?"

"I'll try not to muff it."

"Very droll, I'm sure."

"What is this?" says Bond, admiring a tailored suit on a manikin.

"Yes," says Q. "This one's not your size exactly, but we are having this system installed in one of last year's suits that fit you."

"System, Q?"

"If I am not mistaken, during one of your sojourns in Japan, you studied the sai, is that not correct?"

"Yes," says Bond cautiously.

Q steps behind the manikin and raises the arms of its coat so that the hollow sleeves point toward Bond. "Each of these sleeves contain a framework that will go around each arm. Just shoot your sleeves…" He snaps the coat sleeves forward. "…and voila!" A collapsible knife blade comes out of each sleeve. Not only does the blade itself telescope out until it is a foot long, but parallel guards pop out along both sides of each blade. "What do you think?"

"Impressive," says Bond, "but there are an awful lot of moving parts."

"That's why I want you to field test it, 007."

"Then I'll give it the old college sai."

Q rolls his eyes toward heaven.

On a Globe, we see the representation of a BOAC plane fly from Heathrow, across the Atlantic and then land in New York. We then see a TWA flight traverse the United States, landing at Las Vegas.

Bond walks into the terminal at McCarran Airport carrying one small carry-on and a bag of golf clubs slung over his shoulder. At the gate, he meets his old friend, Felix Leiter.

"Nice to see you again, Felix, old man."

"Hope you had a good flight, James."

"Long but luxurious," says Bond. "Has the package arrived?"

"If you call it a package. It's a huge crate. They had to use a military cargo plane. What do you have in there, a tank?"

"You aren't far off. Wait until you see it."

"We'll go over to Nellis tomorrow and pick it up. May I carry your clubs?"

"Thank you." They talk as they walk to the parking garage. "So what is the status of the case?"

"Well, I'm your liaison with the FBI," says Leiter. "They still don't know who took the fuel or the scientist or where they took them."

"Any chance we know who 'they' are?"

"Afraid not."

"Russians?"

"That was our first guess," says Leiter, "but our sources close to the KGB say, no."

"You believe them?"

"As far as it goes. There is always SPECTRE, of course."

"Of course. So what is first on the agenda?"

"I'm going to drop you off at the Flamingo and, then, get back to my hotel."

They get in a modest, new Chevy sedan and drive. We see a Montage of Vegas. Noteworthy are Christmas-themed decorations on the Hotels along the Strip. Finally we see the Flamingo.

Inside the casino at the Flamingo, Bond finds the brightly flashing casino lights to be extra bright with Christmas green and red lights added. Dean Martin sings a Christmas song—live in a nearby lounge, not recorded. The cacophony of bells in the casino proper goes off incessantly. Multiple Santa Clauses wander the floor, looking over the gambling patrons, whether they are working the one-armed-bandits or playing at cards or dice. Apparently, the Santas are not there only to bring cheer but to determine who is being naughty or nice.

Bond buys some chips and joins others at the roulette table. There are businessmen in dark suits, a bearded whale in a white suit and a glamorous lady in a green gown and red hair done up in a magnificent high-rise. Bond puts chips on black and wins several times in a row. A waiter takes his order and brings a martini while Bond plays.

"You're lucky, Mister." It's the woman in green at his elbow.

"It's Doctor, actually, but I'll bet you say that to all the boys."

"Just the ones who get lucky."

"Am I that lucky?"

"Buy me a drink and you'll see, Doctor," she says.

"Waiter, another of whatever the lady is having," says Bond. Then to her, "Do you have a name?"

"I do." She pauses a long time.

"Well, where are my manners? My name is Bond, James Bond."

"Why, hello, Dr. Bond-James-Bond. My name is Crystal."

"Clearly."

As the morning light streams through the floor-to-ceiling window of the hotel room, the two figures in the bed stir, but only Bond opens his eyes and rouses himself. He looks at the woman next to him under the covers, her luxurious red hair down now and spread across her pillow. She smiles as she stirs in her sleep.

Bond gets out of bed and takes a quick shower, slips on a robe with "Flamingo" emblazoned on one breast. There is a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"Room service."

"I don't recall ordering anything," says Bond.

"Compliments of the lady," comes the muffled reply.

Bond cautiously opens the door. The Bellhop tries to push a cart, topped with a covered dish, a bottle of Champaign and two fluted glasses, into the room. The door does not open all the way, however, because of the bag of golf clubs resting against the inside of the doorframe. Bond moves the bag aside, just enough to allow the door to open all the way.

"I see you play golf," says the Bellhop.

"Yes, I'm hoping to play before I leave town."

The Bellhop gets the cart inside, and Bond closes the door.

The Bellhop reaches beneath the covered platter on the cart and pulls out a gun with a silencer. The two men turn toward each other at the same time, and Bond grabs the Bellhop's gun hand by the wrist. They struggle. A suppressed shot fires toward the bed and sends feathers flying from the pillow on Bond's side of the bed, but Crystal only sighs and rolls over slowly, mercifully, Bonds thinks, away from the bullet.

Bond forces the Bellhop to let go of the gun, but the Bellhop knocks Bond against the wall with a punch. The Bellhop pulls out a throwing knife as the two men go round and round. The knife is thrown, but Bond dodges it. With some alarm, he glances over his shoulder and sees that it buries itself in the headboard above Crystal. She still does not wake up, though.

While Bond is distracted, the Bellhop dives for the gun, but Bond jumps him. They struggle on the floor until the Bellhop throws Bond off. Bond crashes into the bag of golf clubs, knocking them over. One of the clubs slides out onto the plush rug. The Bellhop points his gun at Bond, but Bond grabs up the golf club and shoots the Bellhop with it. The loud report of the golf-club gun is followed by a muttering sound from the bed, but when Bond gets to his feet and looks over at the her, he sees that Crystal is still sleeping.

Moving quickly, he puts away the golf club, puts the body and gun-with-silencer in the closet, covers the bloody stain in the rug with a loveseat, and takes the knife out of the headboard. Just then, Crystal rouses herself. Bond opens the drawer to the nightstand on her side of the bed, puts the knife in and closes it. He stands back as she opens her eyes. Sleepily, she yawns and stretches. Then she smiles at him.

"Have you showered already?"

"Yes."

She half sits up and sees the cart in the middle of the room, the cover of the empty platter on the floor beside it. "Is that breakfast?"

"It was," he says. "I'm afraid I was famished."

She smiles again. "I'm famished, too. But not for food." She reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him back into the bed. He goes down on her eagerly. "Why are there so many feathers?" she asks absently.

"I hope you're not allergic," he says before getting back to business.


	2. Chapter 2

Felix Leiter drives the van across the desert with Bond beside him in the passenger seat. It is night, but it is not dark outside because Nevada is thoroughly lit up. Ahead, though, beyond the toll booths arrayed along the California state line, is the vast blackness of a desert with no commercial use and therefore no lights save for the lights of vehicles.

"I hope it didn't put Q out to design the steering system for the American road," says Leiter.

"Not at all," says Bond. "After all, on the Continent they drive on the same side of the road as you."

"I hadn't thought of that," muses Leiter. "Say, I suppose it would be possible to put steering on the passenger's side, too."

"Could be done, I suppose."

There is a pause in the conversation while they go through the gate at the state line, and then they are in California. During the long drive, they take turns behind the wheel while the other sleeps. As they near Los Angeles, Leiter asks, "Have you ever been to Pasadena, James?"

"Can't say I have. Los Angeles a couple of times, but never Pasadena. No."

"Well, it's right next to L.A. but not as big. There are a lot of research facilities. University of California and NASA-related, mostly."

"I know. I did some research," says Bond.

"I thought we'd first go take a look at the lab. See where the rocket fuel was stolen."

"That sounds like a good idea."

An hour later, they drive past the sign that says "Cryonic Research" and up the long driveway to park the van in the lot in front of a rambling, two-storey stucco building with a typical Southwestern pan tile roof.

"It's a secret facility, of course," says Leiter. "That's why it doesn't say 'Rocket Scientists at Work' on the sign you see from the road."

"Understood," says Bond.

The two men go through the front door, past two plainclothes guards in navy blue blazers. They are not carrying rifles, but Bond notices the large bulges under their left arms. He assumes they are large caliber handguns, perhaps .44 Magnum revolvers or .45 semiautomatic pistols. He notices similarly dressed and armed men inside the wide, ultramodern lobby with its steel and space-age-plastic furnishings. There are evergreen fronds and twinkling lights everywhere, even along the length of a honey-colored reception counter. Bond puts his hand under the counter's ledge and feels a bullet hole that they haven't yet bothered to repair.

The Receptionist greets them with "Merry Christmas, gentlemen."

"Happy Holidays. I'm Felix Leiter, Office of Management and Budget. This is Dr. Bond from the London Institute of Technology."

"Just a minute," she says. Then, speaking to a Caterer in a vest and bowtie with a cart in tow, she says, "Is that for the party tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Where does it go?"

"This man in the blue blazer will show you." With that, one of the Security Guards leads the Caterer into a corridor. The Security Guard has to swipe his badge so that they can gain entry through a heavy, thick glass door.

"You're having a party?" asks Leiter.

"Tonight is our annual Chrsitmas party," she says with a broad smile. Then she consults a schedule. "Yes, Mr. Bennett is expecting you. If you don't mind waiting over there?" She indicates some plush new easy chairs set around a glass-topped coffee table. Leiter stays where he is. Bond ambles over but does not sit. He notes that the magazines on the table are mostly about cryonics and that the cover of one prominently placed journal shows a man with an unruly mane of white hair holding aloft, in a heavily-gloved hand, a beaker with what looks like smoke coming out of it. The headline reads, "Dr. Max Glaublick Gets It Right: Cryogenic Breakthrough in Animal Tests."

"Mr. Leiter? Dr. Bond?" It is a tan, fit-looking man with an ID badge clipped to the breast pocket of a navy blue blazer. The badge identifies him as "Ned Bennett, Director of Security." He is walking toward them with his hand outstretched and a smile on his lips. He has a short, thin mustache, which matches his chestnut crew cut. "You must be Mr. Leiter from Washington."

Leiter takes the hand and says, "Glad to meet you, Mr. Bennett."

"Dr. Bond, I've heard so much about you," Bennett says, shaking 007's hand, too. "I hope you didn't have too grueling a trip. I know jet lag can be a bitch."

"Actually," says Leiter, "We spent last night in Las Vegas."

"Then you had a chance to unwind. Say, what a coincidence. Some people from our facility just flew back after a few days in Vegas. Well, let's move this meeting into my office, shall we?"

Once he closes the door to his office, Bennett wearily leans against his desk and gets to the point. "We lost five people the other day," he says. "Two wounded security guards managed to survive. So they left witnesses. Whoever pulled this off must've worked so quickly, they didn't have time to kill everyone they would probably have liked to."

"And about Dr. Morewood and the fuel tank?" prompts Leiter. "No ransom demand? No body?"

"Nothing. It's been a week, and we haven't got a clue. And the crazy thing is that they made such a clean getaway. I mean, nobody saw any cars or trucks or helicopters. They hit us and then just vanished."

"I presume you still have more valuable work here that someone might try to steal," says Bond.

"And valuable people, too," says Bennett.

"Are you sure the handguns are sufficient?" asks Bond. "I realize you have a lot of armed men, but it sounds as if whoever hit you last week was heavily armed, and I understand they used tear gas."

"That's right," says Bennett gloomily, "but while we are keeping things low-key for appearances sake, my men have access to over a dozen different stations in the lobby, and elsewhere around the building, where they can grab gasmasks and submachine guns at a moment's notice. We've been having drills every night for the past week."

Bond half-heartedly nods approval. He notices a picture on the wall of Bennett's office.

"Is that you with Dr. Glaublick?"

"Why, yes," says Bennett, seeming a bit surprised. "Do you know him?"

"Never heard of him before today," says Bond.

After further, decidedly unfruitful discussion, Bennett escorts Bond and Leiter back to the lobby.

At the opposite end of the long lobby, Bond spots a lithe young woman in a charcoal gray business suit walking with an older man toward a bank of elevators. As he sizes up her figure, Bond finds something familiar about them both, even from behind. At the same time, he wonders why they bother to have an elevator at all in a two-storey building. The elevator doors open. The two enter the cabin, then turn, as the old man pushes something inside the door, presumably choosing their floor by pushing buttons on a panel. Suddenly Bond recognizes them both. The man is Dr. Glaublick, and the woman is Crystal.

Bond and Leiter climb into the van. It is Leiter's turn to drive, and he pulls back onto the freeway.

"So Felix, what do you make of the subterranean levels of that facility?"

"You noticed," says Leiter. "I knew about it already, but I was aware that Bennett didn't mention it to you, even after you mentioned Glaublick. There is a separate facility in the basement, also a top secret government-contracted project, and they're doing a different kind of cryonic research."

"Cryogenic preservation of living tissue," says Bond. "I know."

"Yeah," replies Leiter. "Both facilities are funded by something called the B&B Corporation, which has its fingers in government research contracts in the United States and Europe, usually at arms length. I, personally, don't know much else about it. Except that the lower-level facility was unaffected by the attack last week."

Bond eyes the review mirror. "Don't look now, Felix, but we're being followed."

"I already noticed that, too."

As a pursuing dark sedan closes in from behind, Felix speeds up, and the car behind picks up speed, too. A man on the passenger side of the pursuing vehicle sticks his head and arm out and begins shooting at them. Bullets bounce off Q's van like tiny hail stones.

"Your guy, Q, bullet-proofed this thing!" exclaims Leiter.

"Q added a lot of options," says Bond, opening the dash board to reveal a control panel that includes a targeting scope and a joystick, which Bond uses to fire a rear machinegun at the car behind them. Another man in the backseat of the pursuing vehicle fires a rocket that takes out Leiter's driver side mirror. Leiter rolls down his window so he can stick his head out and see behind him.

"Careful, Felix!" warns Bond.

"You worry about your job; I'll do mine," says Leiter.

Bonds shoots up the pursuing vehicle until one of the gunman is wounded and the other dead, and the wounded driver is forced to pull onto the shoulder.

"How's that for a job well done?" says Bond.

"As you guys like to say, 'High marks'."

Another dark sedan pulls onto the freeway from an entrance ramp and swerves in front of their van. Leiter pulls the parking brake as he spins the driver's wheel until it turns the van around 180 degrees. He releases the brake and drives with rubber-peeling acceleration in the wrong direction on the freeway, forcing cars off the road, but as he passes the car that is pulled onto the shoulder, the wounded gunman fires a shot through the van's open window, wounding Leiter in the shoulder.

"I'm hit, James! I can't control the wheel!" shouts Leiter through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, the new pursuit vehicle, also driving the wrong way on the freeway, is gaining on them. Bullets continue to ping off the van.

"Take it easy, old man," says Bond. "I've got you covered. Remember that we were talking earlier about how nice it would be to switch the steering from one side of the van to the other? Well, Q thought of that already." Bond opens the glovebox door sideways and draws out a separate steering wheel. A hydraulic mechanism whirs as the vehicle switches steering command to the passenger side. "Don't worry, Felix. I'm used to driving on this side of the road."

As cars lurch out of the way in front of them, Bond increases their speed, only adjusting the drift of the van from side to side to avoid those cars that are not quick enough to get completely out of their way. He also uses an automatic switch to roll up the bullet-proof window on Leiter's side.

Bond glances at Leiter and sees that his head is lolling.

"Talk to me, Felix!"

"I'm OK, James," he says, but his voice trails off.

"Those driving skills you showed off back there," says Bond. "Impressive. They teach you that at the Farm?"

"I'd tell ya, but then I'd have ta kill ya," Leiter slurs.

"Well, I'm going to see if I can't match those skills." With that, Bond brakes and swivels, pulls into an opening in the slow lane, and barrels toward the enemy car, which is still coming toward them but in the opposite lane. Bond trades machinegun fire with them. His windscreen cracks but doesn't shatter. Their windscreen is less resilient. A half-dozen holes appear, each in the middle of a spider web of fracture lines, but they keep coming. Then, as they are closing in, Bond throws another switch on his control panel and turns his joystick and its on-screen targeting sight toward the enemy vehicle. The screen flashes to indicate that he is locked on target. He pushes the button atop his stick and watches as first smoke and then fire pour out of the front left headlight area of Q's van. A projectile flies at an angle across the lanes and into the driver's side of the assailants' car, which explodes in a brilliant flash before lifting into the air and turning in a mid-air spiral before crashing upside down onto the guardrail.

Bond grabs the radio-telephone handset.

"Papa Bear this is Goldilocks! Papa Bear this is Goldilocks! Come in, Papa Bear!" shouts Bond into the mouth piece.

"Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear," comes the response over the radio-telephone. "Are you headed to the cottage?"

"Affirmative, Papa Bear, but Baby Bear's porridge is cold! I repeat, Baby Bear's porridge is cold."

"Understood, Goldilocks. Mama Bear will be standing by. Can you find the cottage?"

"Affirmative, Papa Bear," says Bond. "ETA five minutes." Bond steps on the pedal.

Two minutes later, Bond pulls into the driveway of a rambling ranch-style home on a secluded street and nearly slams into the garage door, which opens immediately. A small medical team with a rolling gurney hustles out of the garage, takes Leiter from the van and wheels him into the garage and thence through a breezeway. Bond follows them at a trot. Beyond the breezeway is a small but state-of-the-art operating room with a surgeon and three nurses. They work feverishly on Leiter, cutting away his coat and shirt and hooking him up to tubes and bottles.

Bond stands by and watches helplessly for once.

"I'm Special Agent McNee, FBI," says a man in shirtsleeves with a .38 in his shoulder-holster, coming up to Bond and extending his hand. Bond takes the hand but without taking his eyes off of the medical team for more than a second. "Thanks for saving our man," says McNee.

"Don't mention it," says Bond. "He's my friend."

"He's in good hands. And he's a tough old bird. You look kinda beat up yourself. Sure you couldn't use some medical attention?"

"I'm all right," says Bond. "Besides, I've still got work to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Bond drives into the parking lot of the Cryonics Research facility in a new Ford Mustang. He gets out, wearing a tuxedo. The sounds and lights of an on-going Christmas party come from the building as Bond enters. A Guard stops him, but Bennett sees Bond and comes over.

"Dr. Bond, what a surprise. I would have extended you a formal invitation if I had known you and Mr. Leiter were interested in attending. Where is Mr. Leiter? Isn't he coming?"

"He's visiting a close friend in the hospital," says Bond.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Well, in any case, you are certainly welcome to come in and enjoy our Holiday cheer."

"Thank you."

Bond takes in the room.

The Christmas event is crowded with beautifully dressed Party-Goers and a small army of liveried Caterers. There is a Band playing a danceable swing version of "Jingle Bells," and some couples are dancing to it. Bond's eye quickly finds Crystal, who is wearing her green gown to festively complement her red hair, which, tonight, flows down over her shoulders. "Do you mind if I circulate? I think I see an old friend," says Bond.

"Of course," says Bennett, though he seems a little puzzled.

Bond wades through the Dancers and taps Crystal on the shoulder while she is engaged in light conversation with a clutch of Party-Goers. "May I have this dance?" asks Bond.

When Crystal turns her head toward him she is smiling openly, almost laughing at something that her group has been discussing. Then she sees Bond and her expression turns to one of astonishment. Her mouth opens. "You!" she says. "How did you get here?"

"I might ask you the same thing," says Bond, taking her in his arms as they begin dance. They have to pace their conversation as they draw apart, turn around and come back together.

"I work here. I'm Dr. Glaublick's executive secretary. Do you know who Dr. Glaublick is?"

"I know of him."

"So, why are you here?"

"I happen to have business dealings with the upstairs facility, while I gather that you work for the downstairs one. Ordinarily, I imagine that your two worlds don't meet except on the backstairs," says Bond.

"Except we always share the Christmas party," she says. "It's much cheerier up here."

"I can only imagine," says Bond. "Tell me, though, I can't imagine how we happened to run into each other in Vegas. Can you?"

"Well, no, not really. Mrs. Bunting—she represents our financial backers…"

"The B&B Corporation," Bond supplies.

"Yes," says Crystal with some surprise.

"Go on," says Bond. "What did Mrs. Bunting do?"

"Well, it was unusual, really. Mrs. Bunting comes to visit so rarely and doesn't usually do anything fun, but a couple of days ago, she took several of us to Vegas, and, as a matter of fact, she was the one who pointed me toward the roulette wheel, which was odd, because I was inclined to play poker, but she insisted."

"Whoever this Mrs. Bunting is, she knows me well. I would play roulette over poker every time."

"Excuse me?" says Crystal, a mite bewildered.

"Is Mrs. Bunting here tonight?"

"Yes, but, more to form, she hasn't been upstairs enjoying the party. She's down in the lab."

"Do you think you could introduce me to her as well as perhaps give me a guided tour?" asks Bond just as the music ends and all of the Dancers stop dancing and applaud the Band.

"Why don't we all go down?" says a German-accented voice. Bond turns to see that it is Dr. Glaublick. The next thing that Bond notices is the small-caliber Belgian pocket pistol that Glaublick is pushing against his ribs.

"Let's," says Bond agreeably. "You stay here and enjoy the party," he says to Crystal.

"Not at all, 'DOCTOR' Bond," says Glaublick. "I think that she should be part of the guided tour just as you planned. Come, Miss Schenagel."

They set off together for the bank of elevators. Glaublick and his pistol sticking close to Bond on one side, and Crystal taking his arm on the other.

"'Schenagel'?" says Bond.

"My father's name," says Crystal flatly.

As the three of them descend in the elevator, Bond observes the number of each floor light up as they pass each lower level. There are only three sets of lights.

Nevertheless, Bond asks, "How many floors down are we going?"

"There are three levels below ground," says Crystal.

"Actually," says Glaublick, "there are five."

"What?" says Crystal.

Bond says, "You keep things close to your vest, don't you, Glaublick?"

"So long as I need to," says Glaublick, stepping back and exposing his pistol, which he now wavers between Bond and Crystal. "You will surrender your pistol, please."

"Not carrying one tonight," says Bond.

"Pardon me for not believing you. You will place both of your hands behind your head."

"Max!" exclaims Crystal.

"Sorry, my dear," says Glaublick, "but we can't afford to keep you in the dark any longer. Our real operation is about to be rolled up tonight. We were only waiting for Mr. Bond to join us and to become the final ingredient."

"'MISTER' Bond? Not 'DOCTOR'?" says Crystal, searching Bond's face.

"Quite true, I'm afraid," says Bond, "but if that disappoints you, you'll have to stand in line behind my Aunt Charlotte. Now, see here, Glaublick, what do you mean by referring to me as 'the final ingredient'?"

"You will find out soon enough, 007."

"Double-oh-what?" says Crystal.

"You can't imagine how glad I am that you aren't mixed up in this," Bond says to her.

"But she is fully mixed up in it now," says Glaublick. "Miss Schenagel, you will carefully and very slowly reach into his coat. Under the left armpit, I believe, you will find a pistol. You will also search his pockets for any other weapons, documents or devices, and give them to me."

Crystal does as Glaublick asks, but her pouty lips suggest her unhappiness with this assignment, particularly as she relieves Bond of his Walther PPK and, holding the grip gingerly between her fingers, gives it over to Glaublick, who now trains both guns on them.

"Thank you, Miss Schenagel," says Glaublick. "I knew I could not trust you, 007."

"I hope you can sense my remorse," says Bond.

Crystal also hands over a cloth that might be mistaken for a blindfold with thick eye patches.

"What is this?" says Glaublick, unable to touch it since he no longer has a free hand.

"Ear muffs," says Bond.

"Ear muffs? In southern California? For what purpose?"

"Well, they are very light ear muffs, but you never know when you might need them," replies Bond. "Why don't you let Miss Schenagel hold onto them. I'd like her to, for sentimental reasons." Bond adds, whispering to her, "You never know when they might come in handy."

"What have you," says Glaublick with a shrug. "It won't bring either of you good luck."

The elevator dings at the fifth level down, and the door opens. Using both guns in a gesture, Glaublick sweeps his hostages out onto the concrete floor of a cavernous room that is brightly lit, but in sickly artificial light, and filled with rows of enormous, navy-gray storage tanks. Four armed Commando/Guards in red Hazmat suits surround Bond and Crystal.

"How about that tour you promised?" says Bond.

"Certainly," replies Glaublick. "These are cryonic tanks, used for various experiments. That is really all you need to know for the moment."

"What's behind those doors down that corridor?" asks Bond. "They remind me of the entrance to a hospital operationg room."

"I don't understand," says Crystal, genuinely bewildered. "Why are all these tanks here?"

"Seems like a fair question," says Bond. "And where is Dr. Morewood?"

"He is right here," says Irma Bunt, approaching from the very corridor Bond was just asking about. She is pushing Morewood by his shoulder. The old man looks frail. The feel and smell of a cold draft of air seems to follow them from wherever they have been. Presently, a Surgical Nurse in a white winter coat, matching boots and white earmuffs, comes out of the swinging doors of the operating room, pushing a gurney that squeaks more loudly as it rolls toward them. She is accompanied by The Commando, the same one we saw kill Bob in the opening scene.

"Mrs. Bunting!" says Crystal. "What are you doing?"

"Never you mind, girl," says Bunt. "I don't wish to talk to you after you failed so miserably to lead 007 to his death. You were supposed to die in that Vegas hotel room yourself, for that matter, and you couldn't even do that!" She fairly spits the last remark.

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Bunting?" Crystal says with ever increasing alarm. Then she turns to Bond and adds, "Why does everyone keep calling you '007'?"

"It's his true identity, that's why," says Glaublick with considerable irritation. "Just as the lady you are addressing is not Mrs. Emily Bunting, but Irma Bunt."

"Or, more properly," observes Bond, "the former Mrs. Enrst Stavro Blofeld."

"So I was," says Bunt, "and so I shall be again."

Ignoring her last remark, Bond turns to Glaublick. "Am I right in guessing that you never really needed that rocket fuel you stole from upstairs? That was just a ruse. You obviously have access to more than you need. What you really needed was Dr. Morewood's talent in precisely regulating the temperature of liquid oxygen."

"Very good, 007," says Glaublick with a smile of satisfaction, "but I will bet that you have not yet worked out why."

"Not really," says Bond.

"Shall we show him?" Glaublick asks Bunt.

"Of course. It is past time," Bunt says. Her hand still guiding Morewood, she leads everyone around to the side of one of the tanks where all can see, through a small, reinforced window in the tank, the mounted head of none other than Ernst Stavro Blofeld.

Crystal lets out a scream.

"What do you say about that, 007?" Bunt says bitterly.

"Would it be comforting if I told you that he looks like himself?" Bond suggests.

"Enough with your tiresome _bon mots_ , 007," she says. "You are about to become part of SPECTRE's greatest achievement, thanks, of course, to Dr. Glaublick, and with the reluctant assistance of Dr. Morewood." She warms to the subject as she continues her exposition. "We are going to attach the cryogenically preserved head of my husband to your body, 007. Of course, your own head will have to be removed to make a place for his. If you will permit me a _bon mot_ of my own, I will say that this will be like the killing of two birds with one stone. Would you find that amusing, 007?"

"I might," Bond says, "though I would recommend that you work on your delivery."

"Rest assured that your head will not go to waste, 007," says Bunt. "I promise to cryogenically preserve it."

"If it's all the same to you…." Bond begins, but Bunt glances crossly at The Commando, who punches Bond in the gut. Two other Commando/Guards tie Bond's arms behind his back and bring him to what looks like a large incubation chamber with holes for gloved sleeves to reach inside and work.

Crystal rushes forward, trying vainly to interfere. "You people are insane!" she screams.

"Remember those ear muffs I gave you?" Bond whispers to her. "You're going to need them."

The Commando drags Crystal away, but then he lets go of her, leaving her next to Bunt and Dr. Morewood. Crystal clings to Morewood who puts an arm around her as much to comfort himself as her.

"I need the surgical nurse to stand by," Glaublich says. Then, to The Commando, he adds, "You, go into the operating room and bring back the surgical saw."

"Let me explain what is about to happen, 007," Bunt says. "First, we will put your head and neck inside of this chamber and freeze it so as to preserve the tissue. Dr. Glaublick will then use the saw to sever your head, which will be mounted in the tank in place of my Ernst. Your body and Ernst will be taken on the gurney into the operating room where Dr. Glaublick will reattach my husband's head to the cold stump of your neck. I admit that I have over simplified the process. I am sure that you can understand that Dr. Glaublick's work will require extreme care. It will be a difficult procedure as it involves a combination of thawing and surgery."

"But I am confident that I can do it," volunteers Glaublick.

"You had better," says Bunt. She nods to the Commando/Guards holding Bond. Together they bend Bond over and shove his head into an opening at one end of the chamber. It seals around his neck.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside the white, padded chamber, Bond turns his head toward the window so that he can see Bunt watching him intently. "I feel a bit choked," He says to her. His voice sounds dull and utterly apart from the world, as if he were alone inside an ice cave.

Through the window of the chamber, he sees Bunt mouth the words, "Sorry. I cannot hear you, 007." That is all Bond needs to know. With his hands tied behind his back, he is nevertheless able to reach his cufflinks and twist them clockwise. Looking out through his window, he can see Bunt's face turn into a portrait of agony as she bends over and covers her ears. Simultaneously, the Commando/Guards let go of Bond's arms. He twists the cufflinks counter-clockwise to shut down the ear-shattering sonic effect and pulls his head out of the chamber. He rolls onto his back on the floor and gets his legs through the loop of his arms so that his wrists, still bound with a cord, are now in front of his body.

Standing up straight, he surveys the scene. Bunt, Glaublick, the Surgical Nurse, and the Commando/Guards are collapsed on the floor, motionless and still covering their ears. He makes a mental note that The Commando was sent away on an errand but has not returned. He notices, too, that the Surgical Nurse no longer wears those white ear muffs she had on earlier.

Bond sees Crystal on her feet, her ears wrapped in Q's special muffs as she helps poor Dr. Morewood to his feet. "Clever girl," says Bond out loud before realizing that neither she nor anyone else can hear him. As he watches her half-carry Morewood toward the elevators, Bond reaches into his hip pocket where Crystal had the sense to leave his cigarette lighter. He manages to get it out and then, setting his bound wrists on top of the chamber where they just tried to freeze his head, he manages to maneuver the laser-lighter until it is aimed at the cord around his wrists.

"As the Americans say, 'Here goes nothing'," and, so saying, Bond turns on the laser, which instantly burns through the cord. Unfortunately, it is so precise that it only burns a small hole through the middle of the cord, so that he is forced to make a second attempt at burning the cord before he can get through enough of the thickness. He is then able to snap the cord by forcefully pulling his wrists apart.

Satisfied with this work, Bond looks up and notices that there is a fresh little hole in the window onto Blofeld's head.

"Oops," says Bond.

"James!" calls Crystal. He turns to see her standing with her arms around Morewood in the threshold of the elevator, jamming its doors open with their bodies and evidently holding it for him. Crystal has removed the ear muffs now.

"Go on! Get out of here!" Bond shouts as he waves her off. "Save Dr. Morewood!" She hesitates, but then drags Morewood inside and stands looking anxiously toward Bond as the doors slide shut and the elevator begins its ascent.

Bond turns back around only to be confronted by The Commando in the red-hooded hazmat suit. He is coming toward Bond fast from the cold operating room corridor and is soon upon him. The Commando draws a small samurai sword. Bond shoots the sleeves of his Tux to produce a sai from each sleeve. The pair of straight, long knives with long, parallel guards snicker-snack into their proper positions. The two men circle each other and make a few parries. Then Bond asks, "How did you withstand that earsplitting blast?"

The Commando opens one side of his hood with one hand to reveal that he has on the white earmuffs that he must have gotten from the Surgical Nurse before he went on his errand to the operating room.

"You must've been a Boy Guide," says Bond. "Always prepared."

They clash, and each dodges one of the other's blows.

"'Boy Scout', Limey," says The Commando. "We call 'em 'Boy Scouts'."

"Sorry, Yank," says Bond, as he blocks The Commando's sword with both sai, but he then leaves one sai to foul up the sword while drawing the other sai free and stabbing The Commando in the heart.

Turning away from The Commando's supine body, Bond comes face-to-face with the muzzle of his own pistol, now in the hands of Irma Bunt. Her facial expression is distressed and she still bleeds from the ears, but she is working her mouth into a snarl.

"You son of a bitch! What have you done to my Ernst?" she cries, starting out angry on the exclamation, but then unable to keep her voice from breaking pitifully on the question.

Bond looks at the hole he made through the window that covers Blofeld's head. "Sorry, Irma. I didn't look before I lit up. Seems I must've put a thousand degree hole not only through his window, but right through his head, as well."

"What?!" screams Bunt, still directing Bond's Walther, point blank, toward his chest.

"Never mind," says Bond. "You can't hear me."

Irma screws her face into an angry scowl and pulls the trigger. Or tries to. Nothing happens, not even a click. Her eyes take on a puzzled cast as she looks intently at the useless gun.

"Right," says Bond. "I didn't load a cartridge into the firing chamber. You'll have to work the action before you can shoot."

Bunt looks up at him. "What!?"

"Here, let me show you." Bond grabs her wrist with one hand and deftly twists the pistol out of her grip with his other. He then slides the action back and forth before pointing it at her. She rolls her eyes, realizing her mistake.

Over her shoulder, Bond sees the elevator open. It disgorges Special Agent McNee with his .38 revolver, Bennett with a .44, and half a dozen of the blue-blazered Security Guards, all armed with submachineguns. Meeting no resistance, they spread out and take control of the huge room. Bennett comes over to Bond and Bunt and looks them over.

"I can't believe it," Bennett says, "but it's just like Crystal described it." He puts his weapon into a military style holster on a garrison belt, a rig that he was not wearing earlier in the day, and puts Bunt in handcuffs. "I can't say I understand it," he adds. "Can you help me fill out the paper work?"

Bond now relaxes and puts his Walther back in its shoulder holster. "It's really quite simple," Bond tells him. "Your downstairs neighbors were having a much rowdier party than you were. I had to come tell them to keep it down."

McNee comes up to join them.

"How's Felix?" asks Bond.

"Oh, him," says McNee. "That bastard's going to outlive all of us. He'll be fine after a couple of weeks just sitting on his brains." He turns to Bennett. "Don't worry about your paper work, I'll help you out as much as I can, but I'm going to have to interrogate all these people, either here or back at the ranch."

"You're going to find it difficult to sort anything out from them for the next few hours," says Bond. "Most of them are stone deaf."

Up in the main lobby, Bond barely gets off the elevator before Crystal throws her arms around his neck.

"James, I'm so glad you're in one piece," she says through tears.

"It's not the first time I've nearly lost my head," he says.

She backs up a step and slugs him in the arm. "You know, your jokes are not as funny as you think they are."

"I know. I've been told it's a defense mechanism."

McNee comes up to Bond and Crystal. "You two have been through enough, tonight. I'll need to debrief you, but why don't you both get some shut eye, and we'll go over it tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me," says Bond, not taking his eyes off of Crystal's.

A minute later, out in the lot, Crystal starts walking toward her '64 VW Bug.

"That's what you drive?" asks Bond.

"I have to live on a secretary's salary," she says. Then she adds, "I _did_ live on such a salary. Now, thanks to you, I'm out of work."

"I might be able to make it up to you."

"I might be interested. What are you offering?"

"A ride in a '66 Mustang."

"Show off," she says.

Bond walks over and picks her up, sweeping her off her feet. "We could come back for your car tomorrow."

"I might just leave it here and never come back," she says and gives him a long kiss. He carries her to the Mustang and puts her into the passenger seat, then he climbs behind the wheel and drives down the long driveway to the freeway and speeds away.

"Western Eyes" by Portishead plays as the credits roll up against the background of a starry night sky.

The End


End file.
